


Birds of a Feather

by GrownUp90s



Category: Mighty Ducks (Movies)
Genre: '90s Nostalgia, Drama, M/M, Post-Canon, Role Reversal, Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-30 02:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrownUp90s/pseuds/GrownUp90s
Summary: Brian McGill has it all. Looks, athleticism, swagger, and boyish charm. Little wonder that Derek Larson is smitten. Quiet, brooding, and artistic, Larson is a mystery that McGill finds endlessly fascinating. But love can never be simple, especially when it involves two Hawks trying to fly among Ducks.





	1. Prologue: Scenes from the Hawk Nest

**Author's Note:**

> Canon is quoted briefly and is denoted in BOLD TEXT. These words belong to Disney, and are not my own.

Coach Jack Reilly's dark eyes scanned his Hawks who were lined up directly across from him on the ice. The boys in black stood ramrod-straight in a perfect 180 degree line, giving the appearance of cadets standing at attention in hockey gear. Each and every one of them were winded from yet another practice that contained blocking, scoring, stick-handling, and penalty-killing drills along with a generous helping of suicide sprints.

But each and every boy knew better than to complain — or even to _look_ tired. Should their coach detect even a trace of insubordination among just one player, the whole team would be condemned to more suicide sprints.

Reilly saved his harshest drill for last.

"Alright, maggots!" He called out. "Starting with Brown, count off in two's."

Jason Brown complied, calling out '1.' Scott Stevens called out '2,' followed by the remainder of the Hawks who were subsequently divided into two lines.

"Line One," Reilly began, "You'll be on the fast break. When I blow the whistle, take the puck and skate like hell to the other net. Line 2, when I blow my whistle again…you chase down that pansy from Line 1 and get that puck! Then bring it back to me and we'll keep going one at a time before switching line roles."

His boys had done this drill a thousand times and did not need the instructions for their own sake, but they took advantage of a little breather whenever they could get one.

"Got it?"

"YES, COACH!"

"Good."

Reilly fished a puck out of the pocket of his black training jacket, and tossed it in front of the first boy in Line 1. Brown accepted the pass, got into position, and waited for the signal.

As soon as Reilly's whistle pierced the air, Brown took off as quickly as he could, simulating a fast break where he would be one-on-one with an opposing goalie. Not even two full seconds later, another whistle sounded, prompting Scott Stevens to take off in pursuit. It did not take long for the leaner, blonder Hawk to line up shoulder-to-shoulder with the stocky, dark-haired Brown. The platinum-haired boy gave his opponent a quick hip-check, recovering the puck while Brown did a belly-flop onto the ice.

"Way to play it, Stevens!"

"Thank you, sir," the boy replied as he skated back to his coach with the puck.

The drill continued down the line until it was Adam Banks' turn to simulate the fast break. The quiet, intense center took off at the sound of the whistle while Brian McGill waited impatiently for his turn to go after his teammate. At the sound of the whistle, he got chance and bore down on Adam from behind. He got close to his target, and could easily have planted Adam on his belly, but he hesitated.

Adam turned on the jets and achieved separation from McGill, deked twice and fired a shot past the starting goalie, Zach Wise.

"McGILL!" Reilly growled. "What the hell was that?!"

The tall forward nervously bit the inside of his cheek as he approached his coach. Adam flashed his friend a 'hang in there' look from the side.

"He's too quick for me coach," McGill explained. "I couldn't get parallel with him."

"Then knock his ass down from behind!"

McGill's gray-blue eyes widened in shock. His coach, the widely-respected, perennial champion Jack Reilly had actually told him to cheat.

"Isn't that illegal?" The boy asked.

"Are you a fag?" The coach shot back, prompting snickers among the Hawks, including Adam.

Derek Larson was the only Hawk who was unamused. The short, flaxen-haired defenseman thought it would be much funnier to take his stick and whack Reilly behind the head, and it took every ounce of the boy's willpower not to do just that.

"No, Coach," McGill responded. "I'm not a fag."

"Well, prove it then."

* * *

 

Several weeks after McGill told his coach that he was not 'a fag,' the boy got his chance to 'prove it' during the Pee Wee Championship. Due to a technicality, Adam had been forced to join Gordon Bombay's ragtag Mighty Ducks, and the possibility of his former star robbing him of a championship vexed the Hawk coach. The Hawks already had a 3-goal lead after the 1st period, but Reilly was not about to take any chances. He wanted to put the game to bed already, and he knew that Adam's presence on the ice would not allow him that opportunity.

" **Alright, hold it,"** he called out to Larson and McGill as they were about to leave the bench and hit the ice. **"I want you to drop Banks like a bad habit. I want him out of the game — finish him off. Got it?"**

McGill flashed his coach a wicked grin. The boy felt that he was about to prove how much of a man he really was on the big stage in front of everybody.

" **Yeah,"** he agreed.

Larson and McGill stepped onto the ice, the latter eagerly anticipating his destiny where he would prove himself and vanquish a traitor at the same time. His linemate, the shorter defenseman, was less sanguine. Larson had been just as upset by Adam's departure as any of the other Hawks, but they were all friends and friends did not headhunt other friends. Or so he thought.

After a few minutes of play, McGill got his opportunity when Adam intercepted a Hawk pass and took off on a fast break. McGill took off in furious pursuit, but he felt no need to get parallel to his former teammate. Instead, he drove his shoulder into Adam's back and sent the latter flying across the ice on his belly.

The Duck managed to get off a lucky shot before he collided head-first into the goal post.

_Damn it!_

Though an unconscious Adam lay face-down on the ice, McGill was more bothered by the fact that his former teammate had managed to score a goal. So much for his 'heroic' moment. To add insult to injury, he saw a worried Larson skate past him and kneel down over Adam.

After a desperate attempt to rouse Adam back to consciousness, the defenseman turned to McGill.

" **What'd you do?!"** Larson demanded.

" **My job,"** McGill shot back, annoyed that his friend had not appreciatd his effort.

* * *

 

After losing Adam as a teammate and friend, Larson had no interest in returning to hockey. He was keen to remain friends with McGill and the others, if possible, but he did not want to take orders from Jack Reilly. The defenseman did not care that his parents would only notice him if he wore a hockey uniform, he was quite happy to be alone with his sketchbook. He did not need adult approval. The adults in his life only pushed him to do things he never wanted to do in the first place, so the indifference of his parents meant nothing to him.

But there was one person whose opinion meant a great deal to him.

As Larson sat on a wooden bench in his backyard, hunched over his sketchbook, he noticed that everything had suddenly gone dark. Surprised – and just a bit apprehensive – the boy gasped. But a big, toothy smile lit up his face as soon as he recognized McGill's deodorant.

"Brian, I know it's you," the defenseman beamed, his smile seemed all the brighter in contrast to his black T-shirt and dark blue shorts.

McGill lifted his hands from his friend's eyes and moved around to the front of the bench to take a seat next to Larson. Dressed in blue jeans, a gray collared shirt, and a Hawks baseball cap, McGill looked a bit out of place on the lush, ritzy grounds of the Larsons'.

"How'd you know it was me?" 

"I guess I'm just a genius," Larson replied with a shrug, his grin still in place.

"I already knew _that!_ I just wondered if you could share some of your genius tricks with me."

Larson giggled as he pulled a loose strand of light brown hair behind his ear, unsure of how to respond to McGill's compliments. But he knew that he loved receiving them.

"So what are you working on, anyway?" McGill asked, looking down at Larson's sketchbook.

The darker-haired boy snatched the pad away from McGill's gaze.

"It's a work in progress."

"Um, okay. Can I see it?"

Larson had been trying to depict a squirrel foraging for nuts, but he was dissatisfied with the lifeless rodent he had drawn with his carbon pencil. He had been hoping to capture the frantic energy of the squirrel looking for food while keeping an eye out for predators – but he just could not bring his vision to life.

"It's really bad."

"I'm sure it's not," McGill assured him. "But if you don't want to share, that's cool. It's a great day for fishing anyway. Come on!"

The sandy-haired boy stood up from the bench and extended his hand toward Larson, which the latter grasped. The aspiring artist felt a surge of electricity run through his arm and go straight to his heart as he held McGill's hand. He hated himself for feeling that, but he did not want to let go. McGill did that instead, once Larson was up on his feet.

In the months since hockey season ended, Larson had had a bit of a growth spurt, and he was almost eye-level with McGill at that point. It would not be long before the defenseman outgrew the forward, but something about Brian McGill would always seem bigger to Derek Larson. It was not just the forward's brash boyishness, or his fun-loving nature, or his easy charm. It was all of those things and more rolled up into one amazing package.

No matter how tall Larson would end up being, he would always look up to McGill.

"Scott's waiting for us at the park," McGill announced. "He's got two tackle boxes and three poles all ready to go."

"Oh, awesome," Larson tried to enthuse. He was annoyed that he had to share McGill with someone else, even if it was another friend and fellow Hawk.

After running inside to put away his sketchbook, he rejoined McGill in the driveway and began the short walk to the park in Edina to meet up with Stevens and do some fishing. It was a gorgeous day in late May; school would soon be out, and Larson looked forward to more days like this with his best friend.

"So what were you drawing back there, anyway?"

"A really bad squirrel."

"Worse than my stick figures?"

Larson smiled at McGill.

"Well.."

"Go ahead, you can say it," the forward returned the grin. "I suck at art. Unlike you. I don't get why you're so hard on yourself."

The defenseman shrugged.

"I won't get any better if I keep telling myself 'it's good enough.' But it's nice hearing that from you."

"Kinda like Coach, right?" McGill asked. "No matter how good we get, he's always pushing us to be even better."

"Yeah. Something like that, I guess."

"You're not _really_ quitting hockey, are you?"

"Yes…I mean, I don't know. I think so. But maybe not."

He felt that he had had enough of hockey and Jack Reilly for a lifetime, but worried that being away from hockey would mean seeing less of Brian.

"If it's Coach you don't like, he won't be coaching the middle school team," McGill pointed out.

"I guess."

But Larson had played enough hockey to know that the Jack Reillys of the world were quite common. Other coaches were not quite as brazen in their cheating, or as nasty toward their players, but the area of difference between Reilly and other coaches was minuscule.

"Of course, you don't have to decide _right now,"_ McGill continued. "But I'd feel a lot more comfortable on the ice if I knew that I had the Hawks' best defenseman on my side."

Larson bit on his lower lip to stifle the grin he felt coming on. If McGill saw that his flattery was working, he would persist; and if he persisted, it would only make it more difficult for Larson to say 'no' to him.

"So what are we fishing for, anyway?"

McGill shrugged.

"Whatever's biting," he replied.

The pair of former Hawks talked about their different fishing philosophies for the rest of the walk to the park. McGill was a play-it-by-the-ear fisherman who thought nothing of bait, lures, casting technique, orr the like. He simply cast his line and forgot. Larson on the other hand was attentive to bait, time of day, casting mechanics, and other tricks of the trade. The studious nature boy knew better than to expect the fish to be biting during the middle of the day, but he got to be with Brian McGill, so he was not about to complain.

Eventually, Larson and McGill met their platinum-haired friend Scott Stevens by the glittering blue pond in the park. The blondest Hawk was tall and lean, and wore a salmon-colored shirt along with a preppy pair of khaki shorts.

After a little bit of small talk, the Hawk trio baited their hooks and cast their lines. Then they waited. And waited. And waited some more.

Larson resisted the urge to tell McGill that he 'told him so' just as he looked up across from their position on the western end of the pond.

" **Ducks,"** the former defenseman growled.

Indeed, the hated 'Little Duckies' were on the prowl, skating through the park on their rollerblades, ruining picnics, terrorizing gulls, and quacking all the way. Larson never understood why people liked them so much.

It did not help that Adam Banks, former teammate and friend of the Hawk trio, was among the ranks of their enemy.

" **I still can't believe they beat us last year,"** McGill declared, eyeing the Mighty Ducks. **"Let's do something about it."**

Without breathing another word, the Hawks proceeded to tie fishing line around the trunk of a pair of trees on opposite sides of the walkway. The Ducks were heading straight into a clotheslining.

The Hawks took refuge behind a stack of canoes, gleefully awaiting 'duckey humiliation.' Larson even made a quip about **'shredded duck'** as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

" ** _They won't know what hit 'em,"_** came a deep, unfamiliar voice.

The conspirators nervously turned their heads to discover that their visitor was none other than Fulton Reed — the tall, dark-haired Duck enforcer who combined a heart of gold with the strength and loyalty of a Mastiff, along with a generous helping of Hawk hatred.

" **Hi, guys,"** the Duck defenseman greeted his rivals with a predatory grin.

The trio tried to escape, but Fulton was too quick for them. Bodies and clothes went flying, and before the Hawks knew what had hit them, they found themselves tied to a tree with their own fishing line in nothing but their boxers.

" **That'll teach 'em to mess with the Ducks!"** Fulton declared before his cheering teammates as he hoisted a pair of Hawk shorts in triumph.

Eventually, the Ducks skated on and the Hawks gave up trying to cry for help, but not before Larson stole a few glances at a scantily-clad McGill.

"See something ya like there, Derek?"

Larson's eyes widened in horror.

"No, _God_ , no!"

"Oh…okay," McGill replied, wiping the smile off his face.

Larson's gaze drifted to the ground, as did McGill's. Each boy made a private pledge to never speak — or even _think —_ of this moment ever again.

* * *

 

Summer vacation had arrived, and with it, the Junior Goodwill Games. McGill and some of his other hockey-crazed friends — Scott Stevens and Jason Brown — made their way over to Larson's house to watch Team USA take on the Icelandic Vikings on the big screen TV. Despite the revulsion with which the Ducks on Team USA filled Larson, watching the hockey tournament had the effect of rekindling his passion for the game.

The defenseman had resolved to continue playing the game, despite flirting with 'retirement' during the months that had followed the championship loss to the Ducks.

As his visitors began settling into the living room, Larson made his way to the family's state of the art kitchen to prepare dip and other refreshments.

Cooking was another passion of his, and he loved combining it with yet another hobby: gardening. With his home-grown basil in hand, Larson began preparing a light, summery dip that also included parmesan cheese, sour cream, lemon juice, and garlic.

With all of his ingredients gathered, he hunched over his mixing bowl and got to work when he heard the sound of footsteps. He turned to see McGill enter.

"Hey, Brian. Could you do me a favor and bring the guys some pop?"

"Sure thing," McGill agreed with a nod.

After heading into the living room with an armful of soda cans, hel returned to the kitchen, prompting Larson to flash a confused look.

"Um, hey."

"Hey, back."

McGill closed the short distance between Larson and himself and eyed the cooking ingredients.

"I'm sorry, is there something you wanted?" The defenseman asked.

"I just wanted to see the Master at work," McGill explained with a smile, prompting Larson to return the gesture.

"It's really nothing," the shorter boy replied with a shy grin. "The secret is freshly-squeezed lemon juice. None of that bottled crap."

McGill gasped.

"What?"

"I think I just heard Perfect Little Derek Larson say a bad word."

"What, _crap?"_

"Oh! There he goes again!"

"At least I didn't say _shit."_

Larson gasped at the obscenity he had thoughtlessly uttered, before covering his mouth.

McGill laughed at his modest friend's horror.

"Don't worry," he assured Larson. "I won't tell anyone about your potty mouth."

"Heh, very funny," the defenseman mock-laughed as he punched McGill's arm.

"Hey, that hurt!" McGill 'protested' with a grin before grabbing Larson by the shoulders and pressing him against the counter. The shorter boy planted his palms against the counter in support as McGill made the distance between them vanish.

Larson was startled by the close contact, but he did not want McGill to break it off. He looked up into his taller friend's blue-gray eyes. The defenseman had always admired the energy and the liveliness of McGill's eyes, but they seemed different this time…darker.

McGill's pupils seemed to fill his eye sockets as he took in the sight of Larson up against the counter. Always a people person, McGill enjoyed the company of others, but he enjoyed Larson's company most of all.

Only now did the forward realize just how handsome the quiet defenseman was.

The forward thought nothing of running his hands up Larson's smooth arms, leaving a trail of goose bumps in their wake. McGill's hands went up over Larson's shoulders before stopping in the shorter boy's light brown hair. Cupping the back of the defenseman's head, McGill pulled his friend's face closer to his as his eyes began to close.

"Um…guys?"

McGill nearly fell backwards onto the hardwood floor as he separated from Larson at the sound of Brown's voice.

"Hey, Jason, old buddy," he called out as smoothly as he could. "What's up, man?"

The brown-haired forward held up an empty can of soda pop.

"I just wanted to know where the recycling was."

Larson nodded before revealing the pull-out that housed the separate trash and recycling cans.

"Thanks, man."

As Brown threw his can away, McGill moved toward the large stainless steel refrigerator.

"I think somebody needs a refill," he suggested, removing a chilled can of pop before tossing it to Brown, who caught it and nodded his thanks before turning to leave.

McGill grabbed a can for himself and followed Brown into the living room, leaving a dazed Larson alone in the kitchen.

The defenseman had no idea what had just happened, but he knew that he was too scared to ask McGill about it.

He let out a sigh before he returned to his cooking, trying to push the near-kiss with his best friend out of his mind.

* * *

 

"So here we are," a 16-year old Brian McGill announced as he stood in front of the main entrance to the Eden Hall campus.

"Yes indeed," Derek Larson agreed, looking down at his old friend who was now a good bit shorter than him.

It was September of 1998, and upon the retirement of their coach at The Blake School, Larson and McGill had transferred to Eden Hall ahead of their junior years and were given spots on the Varsity team. McGill was not happy about this development, having achieved considerable popularity at Blake; but his parents forced the transfer on him, insisting that Blake's hockey prospects were bleak for the foreseeable future.

Larson's parents felt the same way, and his presence at Eden Hall made the transition easier for McGill.

"We better head to the auditorium," the burly defenseman declared.

The lean sandy-haired forward nodded and got into step with Larson as they began the trek to the main academic building for orientation. The two boys had remained indispensable allies on the ice over the years, and from the outside, appeared to be good friends. But a certain, ill-defined tension existed between the pair. Neither of them could quite grasp what it was, and both did their best to ignore it.

The former Hawks had each dated multiple girls during their first two years of high school, McGill being especially prolific. The reputation of Eden Hall girls for being both pretty and easy was another balm that soothed the transition for McGill, but Larson could not care less about dating. The whole process seemed like a boring — and increasingly expensive — waste of time. Its only purpose was to prove to the other kids at school that he was not a  loser...or gay.

Larson swallowed the gum he had been chewing and began sputtering, prompting McGill to give him a few slaps on his back.

"You alright, Derek?"

"Yes…fine…" Larson insisted between coughs.

"Geesh!" McGill exclaimed, letting up on his slaps. "You're built like a freaking rock!"

Larson gave his friend a bemused look.

"I mean that in a good way, of course," McGill clarified.

The defenseman nodded and resumed the walk to the auditorium. McGill was grateful that Larson was looking ahead, and not at his crimson cheeks. Having been around Larson as much as he had, McGill had never really noticed just how tall and strong his quiet friend had gotten. His hair had darkened over the years too, and was now a shade of chestnut brown that matched the color of his eyes.

McGill on the other hand, had done most of his growing early in his childhood. And he was a full head shorter than Larson. But the sandy-haired forward with the silvery blue eyes was full of energy and boyish charm, giving him an air that seemed bigger than his body. It was in stark contrast to the tall, powerful, and enigmatic brooder that was Derek Larson.

Eventually, the pair of former Hawks entered the noisy auditorium that was filling up with students. As they looked for open seats, they caught the eye of Adam Banks.

Banks, a fellow junior and former Hawk, stood eye level with Larson at about six-feet-four. At first, the Eden Hall hockey MVP did not recognize his former teammates, but as his sapphire eyes met with the paler blue eyes of Brian McGill, he knew exactly who he was dealing with. He recognized those eyes…and that little smirk that belonged to the boy who had given him a concussion during the Pee Wee Championship five years earlier.

"Well, well well," McGill began, returning Adam's gaze. "Long time no see, Banksie," he thrust out a hand for Adam to shake, which the latter left hanging.

"Brian," Adam nodded shortly before looking over to Larson. "Derek, is that you?"

The defenseman nodded.

"Heh, who would have ever thought that McGill would end up being the _little_ one?" Adam sneered, prompting McGill to narrow his eyes and withdraw his hand.

"And who ever thought that you'd end up being an annoying trust fund baby in a sweater vest? Oh wait… _everyone_ did!"

Adam did not immediately respond. Instead, he closed the distance between McGill and himself and stared directly into his rival's eyes. The Duck forward held his position for what felt like erernity while McGill stubbornly held his ground.

At last, Adam spoke up.

"I understand you two will be joining the hockey team."

"That's right," Larson piped up in a low voice that surprised Adam with its deep register.

"Well," Adam continued. "Try not to embarrass yourselves like you did against the Ducks – though that may be asking a lot, given your lack of talent."

The tall forward turned to take his seat before either Hawk could respond.

"See you on the ice!" He called back from over his shoulder.

"Come on, Brian," Larson called out gently. "Let's find some seats."

McGill nodded and followed the defenseman to an empty pair of seats in the middle of a row.

"Who were those guys?" Julie Gaffney asked her boyfriend as Adam took his seat next to her.

"No one important," he assured the blonde goalie. "They won't be here for long."


	2. Best Frenemies

Charlie Conway chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched his Varsity teammates score at will against Greg Goldberg. With the establishment of a girls' team, Julie was no longer in goal, and to say that Goldberg was rusty from his two seasons as a defenseman would have been an understatement.

The Varsity forward jumped as he heard Coach Ron Wilson's whistle pierce the air.

"Alright, that's enough," the veteran Varsity coach called out.

"Finally!" Goldberg sighed in relief, looking up at the rafters.

Wilson looked over his squad as they gathered before him and took a knee. All of his state champions had graduated by now, and he was left with most of Ted Orion's JV alumni, plus a few walk-ons, and two new transfers: Brian McGill and Derek Larson. He ran a hand over his forehead and through his sandy gray mane as his players congregated.

"Alright, men," he began. "Beginning with Conway, count off in two's."

The Varsity squad complied and the team was soon lined up in opposing halves.

"Time for fast-break drills," the coach announced, dropping a puck in front of Guy Germaine. "Starting with the One's, head for the goal at my whistle. Two's…when you hear my second whistle, go off after One. Got it?"

"YES, COACH!"

"Good."

At the sound of the whistle, Guy took off in the direction of Goldberg. Within two seconds, a second whistle sounded, prompting Dwayne Robertson to take off in pursuit of the blond forward. As the brown-haired Texan gave chase, McGill looked over to Line 2, and saw that Adam was going to be his opposite.

He flashed a nervous smile when Adam caught him staring.         

Adam smiled back, but McGill did not detect any friendliness from it.

The old Hawk enforcer snapped back to the present as Guy fed him the puck ahead of Wilson's next whistle.

Once he got the signal from his coach, he took off.

Adam gave chase soon after, and hastened to close the gap with his former friend as McGill bore down on Goldberg.

McGill turned on the boosters and achieved further separation from Adam, surprising the Duck MVP with his speed; it looked like McGill would even be able to get an uncontested shot off on Goldberg.

Suddenly, McGill belly-flopped onto the ice as Adam shoved him from behind and stole the puck.

"Way to stuff it, Banks!" Wilson called out in approval.

Unlike Orion, Wilson had no qualms about dirty play.

"Thanks, Coach."

As McGill got back on his feet, Adam gave him a slap on the ass — one of those peculiar jock gestures of solidarity and encouragement. The motion is typically a swift one, but Adam's hand appeared to linger for just a second longer than normal.

"Get 'em next time, sweet cheeks."

McGill's eyes widened as Adam flashed a grin. Before he could respond, Wilson's whistle sounded again.

"Come on, bring it back! Let's go!" The coach instructed.

The pair of former Hawks nodded and returned to their lines, Adam in possession of the puck and McGill bringing up the rear. Once they had gotten to the back of their respective lines, McGill felt like he was being watched. He turned his head to discover Adam looking him up and down like a tree.

"Uh…Brian? You okay, man?"

McGill turned to his left where Larson was standing ahead of him in line.

"Yeah, sure," he replied.

Larson nodded before turning his attention back to the fast-break drill.

McGill looked back to Adam, who was staring ahead. Despite McGill's intense stare, Adam did not so much as flinch. The MVP maintained his unblinking gaze away from McGill, prompting the latter to wonder if his mind was playing tricks on him.

Eventually, practice broke up and Varsity went to their locker room to change back into their street clothes while Orion's JV squad made their way out onto the ice. As a bare-chested McGill grabbed his black Guns 'N Roses T-shirt, he felt something brush up against his arm. It was not an ordinary tap on the shoulder. It almost felt like a gentle massage, as a finger ran up and down his arm.

His silver-blue eyes widened yet again as he discovered that Adam was the source.

"Hey," the MVP greeted his former friend.

"Hey."

"Look," Adam began. "I just wanted to apologize for the way I behaved in the auditorium this morning. I should have been more welcoming and friendly. We're not Hawks anymore, so we don't need to play these little games. I'm sorry."

McGill nodded in appreciation.

"Well, thank you, Adam. Apology accepted," he extended his hand which Adam shook.

Adam's long fingers gently stroked the back of McGill's hand as they drew back, prompting McGill to shiver from the goosebumps that marked his forearm.

"Uh…Adam?"

"Yeah, Brian?"

"When we were on the ice just now…and you…"

McGill paused, unsure of how he could question Adam without looking like a weirdo.

"…and I, what?"

"And you…called me 'sweet cheeks.' Did you mean anything by that?"

Adam flashed a bemused look before stroking his chin in thought.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied.

"A few minutes ago…when we were doing fast breaks. You knocked me down, then you slapped me on the butt…"

"…well yeah, it's what guys do," Adam interrupted with a look that said 'no duh.'

"Yeah…I guess."

"Anyway, I'd love to stay and shoot the breeze," Adam replied. "But the old ball and chain is waiting for me at the library," he placed his hand on McGill's bare shoulder. "A little friendly advice: never get a girlfriend. All they want to do is mother you to death."

McGill chuckled.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he agreed. "Better to play the field!"

Instead of lifting his hand off of McGill's shoulder in one clean motion, Adam slowly rubbed his hand against the smooth flesh before sliding it off.

"Well, see you around," he offered before flashing that familiar grin that struck McGill as unnerving.

"Sure thing."

Larson's dark eyes narrowed as he watched Adam take his leave. He could tell from McGill's body language that his best friend was uncomfortable, and he had no doubt that Adam Banks was the source of McGill's anxiety. But something else stirred inside of Derek Larson as he thought of Adam's extended physical contact with McGill. Something that felt like _jealousy._ But Larson dismissed that thought.

_How can I be jealous of someone I'm not into?_

Deciding that McGill needed some support, however, the defenseman threw on his sky blue Izod polo shirt and made his way over to his now fully-dressed friend.

"Hey, Brian."

"What's up, Derek?"

"You okay? Banks wasn't messing with you just now, was he?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Of course not," McGill replied. "He was actually really nice. He apologized for this morning. I think he wants to be friends again."

"Oh..well good, I guess."

As Adam strolled into the hallway outside the locker room, Wilson caught up to his star player.

"Hey, Banks! Wait up."

Adam stopped in his tracks.

"Yes, Coach?"

Wilson stopped in front of Adam; the two stood at eye level at about six-foot-four,, though Wilson's glasses and paunch indicated a man who was far removed from his playing days. Tall, lean, and strong, Adam's boyish good looks stood in stark contrast to the middle aged hockey coach.

"I'm glad I caught up with you," the older man began. "I didn't have to make this decision right away…but I have anyway."

Adam raised an intrigued pair of eyebrows.

"I want _you_ to be my captain this season."

Adam gave his coach a broad, flawless smile.

"Thank you, Coach. That's a real honor!"

"Well, you earned it."

"But if it's all the same, don't you think we should hold elections for captain, instead of you just naming me to the post? I think I might have more legitimacy in the eyes of my teammates if I'm voted into it – especially given the fact that Charlie has always been our captain."

Wilson stroked his chin while contemplating the MVP's suggestion. After a few seconds, he nodded in agreement.

"Good point, Banks. An election it is then. I'll announce it at the next practice."

"Awesome!" Adam enthused. "Thanks again, Coach…for your confidence."

"It's nothing at all," Wilson replied. "But you had better beat Conway. I can't have a pansy like that lead my team. After you leveled McGill this afternoon, I knew that you were Warrior material."

"Even though I'm a Duck."

"Heh, yeah," Wilson agreed bitterly. He still had not gotten over the forced change of the school's mascot from two years previously.

Although Adam insisted that he was a Duck, Wilson detected a certain quality in him that was not apparent during the boy's freshman year on Varsityn – a steeliness, a determination to win at any cost. And his willingness to muscle Charlie out of the captaincy was a promising sign of ruthlessness. Wilson had expected Adam to defer to his longtime captain, but found the boy eager to seize the crown for himself instead.

As Wilson watched Adam walk down the hallway and out of sight, the old hockey coach finally felt good about his new roster.

Adam turned the corner and found Julie Gaffney sitting up against the wall by the vending machines, writing in an open notebook on her lap.

Hearing footsteps, the goalie looked up and flashed a dazzling smile at her boyfriend.

"Hey," she greeted him. "You look like the cat who just got the cream."

Adam chuckled as he set his hockey bag down and moved to close the distance between Julie and himself.

"But _you're_ the Cat," he pointed out, reminding Julie of her nickname.

Before she could respond, he scooped her up off the floor and held her in his arms, prompting her to giggle as she wrapped her arms around his neck for support.

"Adam!"

She was unable to offer any protest, as Adam planted a kiss on her lips. She loved it when he acted boyish, something that his reserved persona seldom allowed.

Once their lips parted, he gently set her back down on the floor.

"I take it practice went well?" She asked, hunching over to retrieve her books.

"Oh, yes – practice went _very_ well," he replied with a mischievous laugh.

* * *

 

After doing homework with Julie in the library, Adam walked his girlfriend to her dorm before making his way to the room that he shared with Charlie. The center knew that he was getting close once he heard the rough sounds of Pantera blaring down the hallway. He stepped inside and observed Charlie hunched over his desk, frowning over his open math textbook and tapping a pencil against his temple.

It never ceased to amaze Adam that Charlie could concentrate in such conditions.

The MVP went over to the CD player that rested on top of Charlie's dresser and switched it off, prompting the long-time captain to whip around in his chair.

"Oh. Hey, Banks."

"Conway."

Charlie observed Adam's serious countenance with concern. Adam had never been a ball of sunshine, but Charlie felt that something was bothering his friend more than usual.

"Something wrong?"

Adam let out a slight sigh.

"I have bad news," he announced. "Not the kind of thing I like to talk about; but you're a good friend, and I feel that I owe it to you."

"What?"

"Coach is going to be holding an election for the captain's spot. And he wants me to run."

Charlie's green eyes widened in shock. Having been the Ducks' only captain for all of these years, he had taken it for granted that Wilson would appoint him without any controversy. In fact, he had been _depending_ on Wilson appointing him. Charlie was unpopular with his teammates, and an election put him in a weak position.

Adam knew all of this.

"I just thought you deserved a head's up," he explained.

"Oh. Of course. Thank you, Adam."

Having absorbed the disappointing news, Charlie was determined to fight. He took a deep breath before continuing.

"So what are you gonna do?"

Adam shrugged, doing his best to appear nonchalant.

"Would it really be such a bad thing if I ran?"

"What?!" Charlie demanded as he shot up from his seat.

"Calm down, man," Adam tried to place his hand on Charlie's shoulder, only to have it slapped away by the feisty forward. "Running against you may be the best thing I can do to _help_ you."

"Explain," Charlie demanded with folded arms.

"Not much to explain, really," Adam replied. "I'll split the opposition vote with someone else, thus making it easier for you to win. Piece of cake," he added with a smile.

A wave of relief washed over Charlie, and his tense facial expression softened.

"That's actually  not such a crazy idea," the incumbent captain offered. "Thanks, man."

"Anything for a friend," Adam returned the grin.

* * *

 

"I don't know, Adam," Guy began as he filled his lunch tray at the campus dining hall. "It just doesn't feel right."

"I'll tell you what doesn't _feel_ right," Adam shot back. "Having Connie and Julie play on a different team because of Charlie's meddlesome girlfriend doesn't _feel_ right. Awarding Charlie the captaincy after he allowed our team to break-up doesn't _feel_ right. Having our team be a sock puppet of the Student Council doesn't _feel_ right. Need I go on?"

Guy shook his head.

"Nah, you made your point," the blond forward replied. "But I still don't like this."

"Neither do I," Adam insisted. "But you don't have to like it. All I ask is that you consider it," he continued lobbying Guy as he paid for both of their meals.

"Thanks, man."

"No problem. What good is money if you can't share?" 

The pair of Duck forwards left the lunch line and carried their trays into the noisy dining hall.

"And I'll tell you what," Adam continued. "To sweeten the pot a little…I'll name you an alternate captain if you help me get elected."

Guy twisted his lips into a frown. He found Adam's offer tempting, but dirty as well.

"I really don't know, Adam."

"Just consider it," the MVP repeated. "That's all I ask. Come on, let's get settled."

Adam led the way to the sparsely-populated Varsity table. It was early in the lunch period and most of their teammates were either on their way to the dining hall or waiting in line. The pair of Duck forwards were soon joined by Brian McGill and Derek Larson.

"What's up, guys?" McGill greeted his new teammates as he set his tray down across from Adam.

"Not much," the MVP replied. "Brian, Derek. How are you?"

"Not bad, not bad at all," McGill replied. "Just checkin' out the talent," he continued, his eyes scanned the dining hall. "Lots of hot chicks at this school."

Larson winced as Adam nodded.

"Definitely," Adam agreed. "If you manage to snag one of them, would you like to go on a double date with Julie and me?"

"Thanks, that'd be awesome!" McGill enthused.

Adam's willingness to be friends again filled the former Hawk enforcer with joy. But that apparent willingness to let bygones be bygones filled Larson with unease, and he went about eating his lunch in silence.

"I was just talking about the captain's election with Guy," Adam announced. "I hope that I can count on your support."

"Coach is holding an election for the captain's spot?" McGill asked.

Adam nodded.

"And I'm willing to make you – along with Guy – an alternate captain if I get elected."

"Hell, yeah – sign me up then!" McGill enthused again before turning to Larson. "Derek, you'll vote for us, won't you?"

"You bet."

More Ducks continued to trickle in, with Averman, Goldberg, Luis, and the Bash Brothers each taking their seats. Julie blew Adam a kiss as she made her way to the girls' hockey table to be with her teammates, and was soon joined by Connie Moreau.

Larson continued to brood while McGill talked about hot cheerleaders with Luis Mendoza. The dark-haired, mocha-skinned Floridian had been boasting about his amorous exploits, and McGill was determined to outdo him.

"I bet I can bag that one," McGill indicated Marissa Thompson with his head.

The long-legged blonde was the captain of the cheerleading team, and would be a significant challenge. Even Luis was wary of getting involved with her, despite her crushing good looks. The Floridian did not want to risk a brush-in with the football team, whose starting quarterback dated the blonde bombshell.

But Luis, ever the macho competitor, was not about to dissuade his new teammate.

"Well, let's see what you can do," he challenged McGill.

"I will bag her by the end of the week," McGill declared before turning to Adam. "Then we'll go out with you and Julie."

Adam nodded with a slight smile.

"I'm looking forward to it, Brian."

Larson chewed on the inside of his cheek while the boy he adored openly mused about other romantic conquests. Having lost his appetite, the quiet defenseman began playing with his food, absent mindedly rolling his fork around in his mashed potatoes.

McGill noticed that something was off with his best friend, and gave the defenseman a reassuring smile.

"Hey man, you'll get some action too," the forward declared. "Plenty of hot chicks to go around at this school. And they won't be able to say 'no' to a guy like you!"

Before Larson could reply, Charlie sat down at the table.

"Hey guys," the long time captain greeted his teammates.

Dead silence.

"Hey, Charlie," Adam greeted his roommate.

"So, what's up?"

"Not much," the MVP replied before returning to his meal.

The rest of the Ducks pointedly ignored Charlie, and his attempts to start a conversation proved unsuccessful. After several awkward minutes, Linda Tompkins stopped and stood over her boyfriend.

"Hey, Charlie."

"Hey," he replied with a smile, looking up at the pretty 16-year old dressed in dark jeans and a baby blue long T that matched her eyes.

"Wanna sit with the Student Council?" She offered, indicating her table some distance away.

Charlie eagerly nodded before standing up and grabbing his tray, desperate to get away from his surly teammates. It seemed that they still had not gotten over the fact that his girlfriend had pushed for a separate women's hockey team – something about Title IX and equal rights, the usual activism from Linda that drew admirers and enemies in equal measure.

"Later guys," Charlie bade his teammates farewell.

The other boys murmured their goodbyes, but scarcely noticed him.

"Well," McGill began once Charlie was beyond hearing range. "I guess he thinks he's too good for his own teammates."

Adam nodded.

"I hate to say it, but I agree. He's been putting Linda ahead of the Ducks for two years now. But he expects to remain Captain. That's rich, isn't it, Guy?"

The blond forward looked over to see Connie and Julie laughing it up with the other female Ducks. He missed being around his longtime girlfriend, and nothing robbed the couple of time more than their obligations to separate teams.

"Yeah," he seethed. "It's _very_ rich," he turned to Adam before lowering his voice to a whisper. "You can count on my support."

"Thank you, Guy," Adam replied with a soft smile. "That means a lot to me."

* * *

 

Teenage girls are pack animals. And the only way for a teenage boy to separate the one he's interested in from the rest of the pack is to bring a pack of his own to engage the others. Being a newbie at Eden Hall, McGill did not have his own pack just yet, but he was working on it. Only an hour had passed since lunch when Luis had thrown down the dating gauntlet; and a hypercompetitive McGill was already getting antsy.

He wanted to bag the hottest girl in school. Nothing could symbolize his status at the top of the food chain better than having the head cheerleader on his arm.

As he observed Marissa Thompson in the hallway between classes with three of her cheerleading friends, McGill forgot about the fact that he was a lone wolf. He was antsy, and he wanted to bag Marissa. And he wanted to bag her right then and there.

"What's up?" He asked casually as he stopped directly in front of the cheerleading foursome in their white and teal uniforms.

Marissa looked over her casually-dressed visitor in jeans and a burgundy University of Minnesota T-shirt. He was of medium height, with a lean, muscular frame and sandy blond hair. Handsome, but not stunning. One feature that drew her attention, however, were the silver blue eyes that gave his face a rather wolfish appearance.

She figured he was hot enough to justify talking to him.

""Not much," she shrugged. "You new here?"

McGill nodded.

"I'm Brian McGill, and you are?"

Marissa chuckled, amused by the fact that someone in the student body did not know who she was.

"Marissa Thompson," she replied, twirling a long lock of blonde hair around her index finger.

A malevolent grin lit up her face as she watched her boyfriend, Jason Moretti, stomp up to McGill from behind.

"This little fag bothering you, sweetie?" The quarterback asked.

McGill whizzed around and saw the tall, dark star of the football team glaring down at him.

Marissa did not even get a chance respond when Jason yanked McGill by the collar and drew back a clenched fist.

McGill closed his eyes and braced for the hit when he felt Jason loosen his grasp. He opened his eyes and heard laughter all around as Larson gave the bully a wedgie.

"Heh, smiley-faced boxers," the defenseman mused. "I never took you for a smiley-faced boxers kinda guy."

The football player's cheeks turned beet red, and he turned around to give his tormentor the knuckle sandwich to end all knuckle sandwiches – only to discover that Derek Larson was just as tall as, and a little more muscular than he was.

"Is there something you wanted to say to me?" Larson demanded, the look in his obsidian eyes absolutely pitiless and capable of extreme cruelty if provoked.

"N-n-n-no."

"Then get lost," the defenseman demanded. "Find somebody from the Chess Club. Maybe that'll be a more even fight for you."

Sardonic laughs continued to bombard the captain of the football team as he got emasculated by the quiet hockey player. At last, he turned and stomped off, drawing cheers and applause for Larson.

But the defenseman shrugged off the accolades and grabbed McGill by the forearm, leading him away from the crowd. Once they were out of sight of his new admirers, he let go of McGill's arm.

The sandy-haired forward found it difficult to speak, but he managed to find his voice.

"That…was… _awesome!"_

Larson shrugged.

"It was what I had to do."

McGill forgot all about Marissa as he walked with his tall, quiet friend. Larson had just proven himself to be one ofthe toughest kids in school – if not _the_ toughest. But he seemed blas é about his newly-acquired status at the top of the heap. It was possible that he was not even aware of what he had just done. The defenseman had always seemed completely disinterested in things like status and popularity.

McGill had no idea why his friend preferred to keep out of the spotlight. He felt that his friend was absolutely amazing and that he owed it to the rest of the world to put himself out there more.

But as his thoughts about Larson began taking a more erotic turn, McGill snapped himself out of his reverie and spoke up.

"Well thank you, Derek," he offered. "That was really cool of you."

Larson could feel that he was blushing in response to McGill's praise. He had always loved his best friend's compliments, but McGill had become less generous in giving them in recent years. This had the effect of making them even more potent on the rare occasion that they were given. The defenseman moved to downplay his own modesty.

"He seemed a bit rough," Larson declared. "Only _I_ get to be that way with you."

McGill stopped dead in his tracks.

"Huh?"

Larson's cheeks turned into an even deeper shade of scarlet as he realized that his attempt to appear macho had backfired.

"Y'know…on the ice," he clarified. "I beat the hell out of you…and I'll beat the hell out of _anyone else_ who tries to beat the hell out of you.

 _Ah, hockey, that makes sense,_ McGill thought.

For a moment, he thought that Derek Larson had actually been flirting with him.


End file.
